The Many Phases of Love
by His Spectacles
Summary: Love is never easy and it's no different for Harry and Draco who have to overcome friends, rivalry, House traditions, a Dark Lord, war, betrayal, secrets, their families and ultimately each other. SEMI-PERMANENT HIATUS
1. Confusion

A/N: This will focus on the love story between the two boys, with other minor pairings on the side. The timeline will delve into the war but will not focus on the battle aspects, but how it affects their relationship. So don't expect James Bond type of action here. Also, obviously, this is hugely AU since the fifth book. Alas, I have decided to let Sirius remain dead. _But_ the SBRL pairing will be one of those important secondary relationships mentioned.

Also, it's a bit rich of me to start a chaptered story (which I'm not so good at but am trying) when I'm rather busy with duty and requirements. Ah well, all in the name of love, yes?

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**The Many Phases of Love**

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**Confusion **

Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering if it was possible to set someone on fire just by glaring. He was a wizard and so if Harry tried hard enough, then the blond hair on Malfoy's head _could_ burst into spontaneous flames. They were in Transfiguration class and McGonagall had given them thirty minutes to try and change the cushions into porcupines. Malfoy and his friends were sitting in the front row, causing Hermione to relocate to the middle seats with a miffed huff.

The pale blue cushion sat on Harry's desk, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. Harry couldn't help but feel irritated every time he glimpsed the swotty blond hair. He couldn't tell exactly _why_ he was angry, proven when he just shrugged helplessly in face of Ron and Hermione's questions, but there was a prickly sensation in his chest whenever he saw the Slytherin. Ron had assured him it was perfectly normal to feel that way around Malfoy because the other boy was a right git and that was reason enough.

To which, Hermione had rolled her eyes and said, "Honestly, you are such boys. He hasn't even said or done anything to us and yet you're being purposely antagonistic. He _can_ be civil, you know, no matter how much of a stretch to the imagination it is."

The conversation had quickly spiraled into an argument between the two, Ron demanding when Hermione and Malfoy had acted so chummy and Hermione snapping that she just thought it was possible, because everyone had the capacity to be polite deep, deep down inside!

"Harry, McGonagall's looking at you," Ron leaned in and whispered. "She's going to come over if you don't start transfiguring your cushion."

McGonagall's eyes were trained on Harry's table, her mouth straightening in disapproval at the lack of spell casting. Harry quickly waved his wand in the downward motion McGonagall had showed them earlier, muttering the incantation. He felt the magic tugging past his arm and his cushion turned into a small porcupine but with curved spikes.

Ron scowled. "Bloody hell, how did you do that? My cushion only grew spikes."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe your wand movement was wrong." He turned the animal back into a cushion, hoping to try again. It wasn't surprising anymore when Harry could perform spells faster and more accurately, using a greater amount of power than in the past. He had used the Levitation charm to get his book a week ago and it had rocketed to the ceiling, causing the tome to explode in a shower of paper. Things like that had been happening since last year, on his sixteenth birthday. Even his schoolwork had improved, which included Potions much to Snape's displeasure.

On his third try, Harry managed to transfigure a perfect porcupine, alert and wary with his new living mind. McGonagall immediately appeared next to their table, nodding curtly in approval.

"Very good, Mr. Potter." The professor took her own wand and turned it back into a cushion. "Now, repeat it if you would. Everyone, take note of the precision of his wand movement, just exactly 10 centimeters in length but still smooth and graceful. Do you hear the stressed sound of his 'u'? The most common mistake in turning an inanimate object into an animal is the lack of stress in the spell. Well done, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Gryffindor."

It was not unusual for McGonagall to let the student who first mastered the spell perform in front of the class though for Harry it was a novel experience. Usually, it was Hermione who got it right immediately, or some of the Ravenclaws.

Ron grinned and clapped Harry on the back. In the past, his redheaded friend would have kept a tiny grudge against him for showing off even if Harry hadn't intended to flaunt his spellwork. This time though, being made captain of the Quidditch team had satisfied some sort of secret competition inside Ron and he couldn't help but be supportive, especially when a small pinched look came over Hermione's face. She was the acknowledged brains and talent of their trio and having Harry slowly ascend to her level made Hermione feel a little superfluous, although they all knew that neither Harry nor Ron could ever come near to Hermione's brilliance and logic.

Hermione turned back to her cushion, eager to make it right. Harry noticed that the Slytherins were jeering at him, muttering semi-loudly at Harry's arrogant display.

Golden boy this, disgustingly perfect good-doer that, they hissed. They dared not to make their voices louder, already taking advantage over the fact that McGonagall was too distracted by Neville's disastrous attempts of turning his cushion into a porcupine (his turned into living, irritated feathers that formed mouths and bit at Neville's poor fingers).

Harry mostly ignored them though he felt that familiar annoyance in his chest. He gave them a glare which they just sneered at. Malfoy on the other hand had been keeping rather quiet, nodding once in a while to his housemates' insults,. His eyes met Harry's and he quirked a brow in a slightly mocking fashion before he turned back to his cushion. The rest of the Slytherins followed.

_That _was it, Harry realized with widening eyes, wondering why he hadn't understood sooner. Malfoy was acting strangely these past few weeks. He had been on a vengeful rampage ever since the start of their sixth year, cursing hexes and curses at Harry, detention be damned. They had physical altercations, resulting in overnight stays at the Infirmary and a sound scolding from Madam Pomfrey. But now that the end of term was nearing, those confrontations had lessened until they ceased all together. Malfoy no longer provoked Harry, or caught him with a vicious curse unawares.

In fact, the only thing Malfoy did was stare at Harry in the same half-mocking way, as if he found something about Harry disbelieving.

"Harry, are you all right, mate?" Ron asked, waving a hand in front of Harry's staring eyes.

Harry blinked. "Oh. Uh, yeah, I was just thinking, that's all."

Two tables in front, Blaise Zabini couldn't help but say loudly, "No wonder you don't do it enough if it takes that much effort!" How he could have heard that far away was a mystery.

The Slytherins erupted into laughter, including Malfoy, while the Gryffindors argued on behalf of their housemate. Harry rolled his eyes at the commotion, especially when Ron and Seamus started shouting obscenities at Zabini, who yelled right back.

McGonagall swooped down on them, breathing heavily like a furious bull. "_Silence_! Zabini, Weasley and Finnigan detention tonight for disrupting class and the use of crude, offensive language!"

The class quieted into grumbles. Hermione threw a glare at Ron. "Really, you shouldn't have risen to his baiting like that. You know better, Ron, and now you have _another_ detention."

Ron puffed up his chest, not in the least bit dismayed. "Doesn't matter, Hermione. One always has to defend one's best mate. Harry would do the same thing, wouldn't you? "

"Of course. Even if it means a dozen detentions with Filch," Harry answered loyally and Ron beamed.

Hermione sighed. "You _boys_, honestly."

"You always say that," said Ron.

They started to mildly bicker in their own affectionate way and Harry was left to stare in bemusement at the back of Malfoy's gleaming head for the rest of the class.

-

TBC


	2. Attention

The Many Phases of Love

A/N: A little flashback is in order.

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**Attention **

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_The night before Draco was to leave for Hogwarts his father called him to his study. _

"_Son," Lucius Malfoy said, placing a hand on the child's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze of confidence. "Tomorrow you will be attending Hogwarts. You are expected to be in Slytherin and to uphold the family honor. I wanted for you to go to Durmstrang but your mother wanted somewhere closer to home. However, there is another reason why I agreed to her wishes." _

_Draco stared up at his father, trying not to widen his eyes in eagerness but in polite interest as Lucius had taught him. _

_Lucius gave a tiny sneer. "You know about Harry Potter, don't you?" _

_Draco's heart quickened just slightly. Of course he'd heard stories about the Boy Who Lived, from Lucius and Narcissa separately. Or snippets from the house elves, though Draco was quick to dismiss those as inaccurate drivel. Draco nodded. _

"_Good. I'll tell you to pay no heed to what other people say, Draco, because they do no know the truth about Harry Potter," Lucius warned in a disdainful tone, unknowingly sparking interest in Draco's mind. What sort of other versions were there about Harry Potter?_

"_Potter will also be going to Hogwarts as a first year. Draco, you will befriend him and bring him to Slytherin. _This_ is what you have to do for me. Do you understand, son?" _

_The little blond boy didn't because he'd always thought that his family despised The Boy Who Lived and now his father wanted Draco to be his friend? But it was never good to question Lucius' motives and so Draco bobbed his head. His father smiled and in the torchlight it was almost as warm as the fiery glow. _

"_Do not disappoint me, Draco." _

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_Draco haughtily walked into the compartment and then stopped in surprise to find the dark-haired boy he'd met at Madam Malkin's inside. He knew that Harry Potter was in this compartment. The rumors were fast spreading and Zabini had vowed at its authenticity. So the spectacled, rumpled-haired boy was Harry Potter? _

_Draco felt a rare feeling of agitation. The boy had already rejected Draco's offer of friendship months ago, when all Draco had wanted was to befriend the boy with the messy hair and the horrible clothes even despite the fact that Draco thought he might be a Mudblood or half-blood. There had been something about the boy that had drawn Draco to him. _

_At that time in Madam Malkin's, Draco had wanted to _impress_ him. _

_But it hadn't happened that way. As Draco spoke more and more, the boy had retreated into himself, sporting an unwelcome look for Draco and everything he talked about. He had felt a mixture of hurt and indignation and felt those feelings resurface when the boy – Harry Potter – turned to look at Draco and his friends with the same unfriendly expression on his face. _

_Draco noticed that beside Harry was a tall, familiar boy with a shock of red hair and freckles across his face. This was a Weasley, Draco was sure. He'd seen one of them in Diagon Alley months ago and everyone in that family had the same features aside from the hair and freckles. A sudden idea blossomed in Draco's mind. Perhaps now that Harry could compare someone inferior like a Weasley to Draco then the boy would surely pick him over the redhead. After all who would pick a Weasley over a Malfoy? _

_Puffing his chest a little, Draco lifted his chin and spoke in the most confident drawl he could muster. "Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?" _

_But it seemed that the moment Draco opened his mouth, Harry shrank away from him like he did at the robes store. When Weasley sniggered insultingly at his name Draco couldn't help but retort back and offering Harry his hand in friendship. _

_Harry glanced sharply at him. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly. _

_This caused that same awful feeling to spread over Draco's chest and he flushed in anger. His father had taught him that one should never, never tip off to the other person that one was glad, angry or interested. He had to maintain aloof at all times. It was a lesson Draco thought he had learned but instead, he felt his face growing hot in humiliation and started saying things automatically. Ron and Harry stood up defensively and it resulted into a minor scuffle. Draco heard footsteps and quickly hissed at Goyle and Crabbe to leave. They exited the compartment in a rush, Draco arranging his hair and robes. He felt like a complete fool, losing his calm and lashing out blindly, something a Malfoy never did. _

_Draco knew that Crabbe and Goyle were staring at him and he whirled around at them, haughty look fixed in place. "Potter is just like what we've heard from the stories, isn't he? He deserves to be with blood traitors like the Weasleys." The two bigger boys nodded slowly and Draco was satisfied that they wouldn't think that he'd actually _wanted_ to be Harry Potter's friend. His hands clenched as he thought of Potter's rejection and how it hurt – disgraced him. _

_Only then did Draco remember his father's task for him and Draco had _failed_. Lucius Malfoy did not take well to failure especially when it came from his only child. Draco had become so caught up in his unexpectedly genuine desire to become Potter's friend that he'd forgotten that the most important thing of all was not to let his father down. But he had and Draco shuddered inwardly at the thought of his father's disappointment – and what it would mean for him._

_-_

Father and Mother,

I've been sorted in Slytherin as expected. So have the rest of my friends. The dormitory is cold but there's a fireplace and I've already taken over the armchair nearest to the warmth. It had been previously owned by a seventh year nobody. Professor Snape is our Head of House but I don't have to rely on his favoritism because I know I will be the best at everything. Our rooms are large but I still have to share with Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Nott. I would have preferred my own rooms but Professor Snape said that they were only available for fifth years and up. I'm settling in nicely. As you warned there are a lot of Mudbloods and lovers in this school but I'll keep away from them.

Your son, Draco

PS: Father, Potter has chosen a Weasley over our hand. The Weasley had insulted our name and I responded in kind – which is only the truth – forcing Potter to defend him and view me as the villain and he was sorted into Gryffindor as a result. I'm sorry to have disappointed you. I'll try to make Potter see sense.

_Draco chewed on the top of his quill, a new habit he was forming as he reread through his letter carefully. He knew that whatever he wrote his father would still be angry at him. Draco only hoped that his mother placated Lucius. He was starting to hate Harry Potter for making his life complicated. If only the other boy had taken his hand then Draco wouldn't be here writing this letter to Lucius. He knew that Potter wouldn't be persuaded to join him, especially since he was in Gryffindor and suddenly Ron Weasley's best friend. It would mean more problems with Lucius later and the blond vowed to make Potter pay. _

-

His father had immediately written back that he was not allowed to return home for the holidays and that the broomstick Draco had wanted wouldn't be bought. Fortunately, Narcissa had managed to convince her husband to let Draco come home, although she could do nothing for the Nimbus 2000, thought Draco with a wry twist of his lips. It had been a disastrous first year, receiving detentions and losing points for his House. Then Potter had to become the youngest seeker of the century and won spectacularly for every game he played. Draco had seethed and seethed with anger, the hatred he felt doubling with every year that passed. The thing that most sunk beneath Draco's skin was the fact that Potter obviously shared everything with Weasley and Granger. It pricked at him every time, making him remember when he used to _want_ to be Potter's friend.

Then last year, as his fifth year was ending, his father had been brought to Azkaban and all the pressures of the family fell on Draco's shoulders. His grudge against Potter grew and grew. He exacted his revenge in any way possible when sixth year began. It had been marvelously fun to antagonize the Wonder Boy but even that had faded with time, something Draco had thought impossible until it happened. It was like he'd exhausted every emotion he had for Harry Potter until he felt nothing but apathy and it was such a relief to realize that he wanted nothing more to do with Potter. It meant that he could finally look past him and actually start to overcome other people, such as Granger when it came to schoolwork.

His obsession with Potter was dead and Draco couldn't be happier.

-

"Potter has been staring at you," Pansy commented offhandedly as she passed Draco the garlic roots to be chopped up. She wasn't a genius in Potions and Draco liked everything to be perfect so did the most important things himself. "And you haven't been noticing. It's like the world has turned upside down. You are still Draco Malfoy aren't you?"

Draco serenely chopped the roots, his movements graceful and precise. Next to him their cauldron bubbled cheerfully, the perfect color of mauve that would certainly earn a grudging tilt of lips from Snape. "Are you implying that I am some sort of attention-whore?"

"If it's from Potter, then yes." Pansy glanced meaningful two tables away from their right where Potter was partnered with Weasley.

He couldn't refute that as much as Draco was loathed to admit it. He'd done so many embarrassing things over the years just to have Potter's attention and it always backfired somehow. He was glad that phase was over. "Pass the frog's liver."

Pansy wrinkled her nose in distaste as she levitated the preserved organ in front of Draco, who had no qualms about touching it but threw a fit when one of his robes had a water stain. "Don't change the subject, Draco. We've all noticed that something has changed. You haven't come up with a single prank against Potter in weeks and suddenly you've been ignoring him even in front of us. Usually you would be giving us a running commentary on the atrocious way he holds his quill, or how his hair has never felt the 'loving touch of a comb' or how irritating the sound of his sneakers are when he walks by and et cetera."

Pansy was a lovely girl, devious and manipulative, but she talked too much and always bluntly, sparing no one's feelings. He should have picked someone less chatty like Zabini but Draco hadn't felt like being molested during class. Ever since Blaise had discovered sex a few months ago he'd become some sort of pervert, feeling up anything that moved (well, anything that wasn't Gryffindor or Filch or the professors). Still, their table would be much quieter.

"It's none of your business," Draco replied primly.

"It most certainly is," Pansy argued, pushing her rather flat nose into the air. Her brown eyes flashed challengingly at the blond. "Or have you forgotten the many stunts you've planned and the Slytherins have suffered for? You had the vendetta, Draco, and we were your marionettes to accomplish it. Therefore, you owe me – and I will just relay your answer to the others – an explanation."

Draco glared at her knowing it wouldn't work. Pansy was one of the few people who actually knew who Draco Malfoy was. She was also one of the few who could pull his strings prettily.

"All right," Draco relented with a shrug. He picked up his wand and began a clockwise motion above the cauldron and watched as the magic stirred the potion. It was not that Draco was being lazy; the potion required magic for stirring to activate the more latent ingredients. "I have come to realize that Harry Potter is nothing but an ordinary person."

Pansy gaped at him, stunned. Through the years, the Slytherins have always advocated the idea that the Boy Who Lived was just like everyone else but in reality they knew that he was _somehow_ special, although not in the same way the Gryffindors might have seen Potter as exceptional. It was an instinctive reaction to belittle the person who outwardly challenged their own beliefs the most. Draco has always been the one who protested vehemently about the special treatment Potter received, knowing that _some_ of it were merited, and that thought rankled the blond even more deeply and caused him to voice out that Potter was the exact opposite of what was the truth.

Pansy was perfectly justified to be so shocked. Pansy scanned his face for any signs of teasing but found nothing but the truth in the relaxed set of his features. She shook her head and lowered her voice. "What do you mean? Have you forgotten that he's encountered the Dark Lord and survived through every one?"

Draco's eyes were fixed on the potion, watching as the magic became a visible bright swirl in the liquid. "Incredible things happen _to_ him, Pansy, but he's not as unique as we all thought. He's just another boy, someone who fails in Potions but receives decent marks in his other subjects. He's illogical and thick. He's even becoming prey to teenage hormones if you haven't noticed. He eats, drinks, sleeps and shits like the rest of us. He isn't even that powerful, for Merlin's sake."

Some of it made sense while others did not. "Draco, I thought we've established that, even if we absolutely hate every messy strand of hair on Potter's head, extraordinary things happen to him because he _may_ be above the average person in some unfathomable way?"

But before Draco could answer, an explosion the likes which had never been heard of before rocked the classroom. It was only the temporary sticking charms of each cauldron to the table that saved the rest of the class from having upended potions all over themselves. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the spare ingredients that fell all over the students' heads. People shrieked in shock and fear and disgust.

Draco was helping Pansy up before brushing off the crushed butterfly wings off his robes. He glanced around the room fully expecting to see a spectacular hole where Longbottom's table used to be but instead saw that the Gryffindor was sprawled over the table's surface, table still intact and not in flames.

"POTTER!"

Ah, so that was why.

Snape descended on Potter with a new kind of fury that was frightening to watch, even for the Slytherins, wand pointed at the charred remains of Potter's cauldron. Snape's pallid face was spotted with color, his greasy hair and robes coated with the red ink he had been using to grade their essays. Weasley, who was drenched in their botched potion and his fringe charred, looked like he was torn between supporting his friend and inching away.

Draco saw that Potter was completely untouched but looked utterly bemused and nervous as Snape loomed over him. He should have come off worse than Weasley but wasn't. Draco puzzled over this before Snape spoke and stole everyone's attention.

"What. Did. You. _Do_?" Snape demanded with a harsh punctuation on each word. His voice dripped lethal venom that just promised unimaginable torture for the Gryffindor.

Potter swallowed, clutching his wand tighter. "Nothing! I was just about to light the cauldron when all of a sudden it exploded! I did nothing else!"

The worse thing was that Potter looked so earnest that Draco was certain it only sparked Snape's rage further. The Professor seemed to swell with volatile emotion and most of them expected Snape to do something unexpected like hit Potter.

"You stupid, idiotic, brainless, foolish imbecile of a boy!" Snape was close to yelling but just managed to keep it under a shout. Still, the force of his anger was enough to cause Potter to flinch. "Do you know that you're lucky the entire room didn't burst into _flames_?! Detention _forever_, Potter, and so help me your children will still _be_ cleaning cauldrons – "

"Severus, I think you've quite made your point," a mildly amused voice spoke from the doorway and everyone turned to see the Headmaster standing at the door.

Snape glared at Albus Dumbledore sourly before he took a deep calming breath, his face twisted in an expression that begged for patience. He could not believe he lost his calm and practically was screaming in Potter's face even if it had felt wonderful. "Headmaster, surely you wouldn't object to…to this _boy's_ detention."

"Clearly not," Albus responded. "You are free to give him detention, Severus, but only after I have a few words with Mr. Potter in private and yourself subsequently." He cast twinkling blue eyes around the chaotic room. "I suggest that everyone who has some form of injury go see Madam Pomfrey and the rest should relax themselves after this fiasco. We could ask the house elves to clean the mess. What do you think, Severus?"

Draco thought that Snape would rather disembowel himself than give his students a free ticket out.

"I agree," Snape acquiesced tightly, looking near to pain. "But I ask Potter to return after your talk to clean up. Without magic."

Potter looked stricken but nodded hastily.

"Perfect," Dumbledore beamed. "Severus, I will call for you after I've talked to Mr. Potter."

When the door shut behind Dumbledore and Potter, everyone experienced a chill when Snape glanced deliberately at each of them.

"_Leave_," the Professor whispered in a dangerous tone and everyone scrambled to retrieve their things and leave as quietly as possible. Weasley practically sprinted out the door when Snape gave him a murderous look, a panicked Granger in tow. As always, Snape preferred to leave Potter with all the blame and punishment.

The Slytherins returned to their common room, jeering slightly at the downtrodden Gryffindors who went on their way.

Pansy collapsed on an armchair in helpless giggles. "That had been excellent! Did you see Snape's face? I thought he was going to have a conniption."

As the rest of the sixth years fell into a discussion about their Head of House's expression, Draco was grateful that Pansy had forgotten about her earlier line of questioning. Truthfully, Draco wasn't thinking of that but of the strange conundrum; why had Potter been uninjured when the full blast of the explosion should have fallen on him? Weasley must have dropped to the floor to escape being burned alive but even if Potter had done the same thing then some part of him should have been affected, such as his hair or robes.

Just as Potter had finally become so ordinary for Draco, something like this happened to prove otherwise.

-

TBC

A/N: Is this a twist? Oh my, Draco has lost interest in our hero but luckily, Harry always knows how to reel them back in. =P Also, I wibble a little bit because it's always despairing for an author to see that people had enough time to put her story in the alert section but left no review, which is really the thing that helps us out. I might be horrible to have said that but it really is kind of depressing. So please do leave a little review, yeah, because I actually _like _this story and I'd like to read about others liking it as much.


	3. Answers

The Many Phases of Love

A/N: My Harry is capable of maturing earlier than canon Harry did. Also, a LOT of dialogue is in here so be warned.

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**Answers **

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Harry stared at the calmly sweeping back of Dumbledore's long blue robe, wiping his sweaty palms against his trousers. His heartbeat was galloping in his chest and Harry couldn't get the image of the cauldron bursting into flames out of his mind. It was a rather traumatizing vision, especially considering that Harry could have been a burnt corpse by now. He knew that the potion's classroom had special protective charms cast on each table so that whatever fiery explosion occurred would be immediately sucked in through some sort of vortex. It was still a close call.

He was so lost in his thoughts that Harry didn't notice when they arrived in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk and motioned Harry towards the chair in front. Harry sat down promptly, still feeling slightly uncomfortable to be here ever since his outburst at the end of his fifth year. Fawkes sat on his perch, singing a short but comforting song.

But Dumbledore was smiling delicately, his eyes twinkling above his half-moon spectacles.

"Would you like a bit of a snack, Harry?" Dumbledore offered politely, switching to a more familiar air around them. Harry shook his head in decline. He didn't think his stomach could handle any sort of food. Dumbledore seemed to understand and conjured himself a cup of what seemed like tea and delicately looped his pointer finger into the curved handle, sipping the light brown liquid without thought to its temperature.

Harry sat still knowing that Dumbledore liked to build the anticipation by performing mundane things and placing such ostensible significance in his actions. It was a ritual for the old wizard.

In a way this calmed Harry a little, finding the exaggerated normalcy a counteract for what had happened earlier. Finally, Dumbledore looked to have had enough of his tea and placed the china down. He linked his long, bony fingers together and rested them on the table and gave Harry a somewhat measuring look.

"Mr. Potter, tell me," said Dumbledore in a tone that was a mixture of smiling and serious. "Do you remember our conversation during the first day of term?"

Harry sat up straighter, startled at the question. He hadn't expected it at all and of course he remembered, why wouldn't he? He'd still been filled with fresh grief over Sirius (and until now the thought of his godfather caused a deep twinge in Harry's heart) but in a rare and surprising move, Harry had also come to _accept_ it as a culmination of everything that went wrong during his fifth year. It was no one's singular fault, although some people made mistakes more than others.

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Er, yes. It was…was about S-Sirius." His voice tightened a little at his godfather's name but swallowed past it. "But I don't see how it's related to the accident in class, sir."

"We'll get to that, my boy. Now this time, tell me, do you feel the same then as you do now?"

Harry wasn't sure if the Headmaster meant in an emotional way, or mental way, and took a blind guess. He felt acutely uncomfortable discussing feelings with someone more than a dozen times older than him, infinitely more powerful and his Headmaster to boot. "W-Well, I'm not as bitter over it anymore. I mean, there had been some lingering about but it's not as great anymore. I can…remember S-Sirius without becoming too upset. I can say his name."

"Good, good," Dumbledore said approvingly with a nod of his head. "That is excellent to hear. Harry, do you mean that you've come to understand, and not merely accept, all that had happened?"

This was becoming confusing. "All what, Professor? Do you mean Sirius' death? I understand that it was a consequence of so many things gone wrong. Do you mean about Voldemort wanting me dead? I understand the prophecy although I'm not sure why it happened to me."

Dumbledore merely smiled mysteriously and went completely off tangent. "Harry, can you tell me the difference between a man and an animal?"

Harry thought that perhaps Dumbledore had finally lost his mind. Or this could be Dumbledore's habit of doing and explaining things in a roundabout way that was incredibly frustrating for the older wizard's audience. He gave a mental sigh and prepared to play along with the Headmaster.

The Gryffindor thought about it for a few moments. "Our capacity to experience complex emotions and thoughts?" Harry ventured tentatively, swiftly remembering an animal show he'd seen once in the telly when the Dursleys' hadn't been home.

Dumbledore's eyes were like the stars in the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. "Yes, but do you know what is deeper than that, Harry?"

"Er…no, not exactly."

"It is our ability to understand, Harry, that sets us apart from animals, that makes us able to view and react to a situation individually. It help shapes our decisions and actions. And when we are able to understand, we're also capable of misunderstanding things." Dumbledore peered at Harry who stared back without blinking, hoping not to miss any of the hidden messages the Headmaster was fond of giving. Still, Harry didn't understand what Dumbledore was trying to say.

-

_Harry sat stiffly on his seat, unable to look the Headmaster directly in the eye after the damage he'd done to his office, this very office, months ago. Harry had been fueled by anger and grief then, righteously justified after he'd lost Sirius. But then during the summer he'd started to regret his rash, violent actions. After all, the things he'd broken must have meant something to Dumbledore, a memento of his past or a souvenir from an old friend, and Harry had no right to destroy them. It was a surprise that Dumbledore had fetched Harry from the Dursleys' himself and after a critical appraisal over Harry's form his blue eyes had warmed familiarly. _

_They had talked very little as they traveled to the Burrow, where Harry spent the remaining days of his summer under scrutiny and careful care from the Weasleys. It had been awkward and nearly unbearable but he'd kept up a pleasant front because the Weasleys were genuinely concerned for him. Harry was glad he hadn't been made to face Remus either. He didn't know what to say to the man even now. _

"_Harry, it's wonderful to see how you've adapted," Dumbledore said without preamble, which was unlike him. His eyes regarded Harry with pleasure. _

"_What do you mean, Professor?" _

"_My boy, I was rather unsure of how the past months' changes might have affected you," the aged wizard confessed uncharacteristically. "My own secretive actions had helped pave the way for your loss. I must admit I underestimated your maturity, Harry, in that I expected you to be in worse form this semester and certainly not the smiling, almost peaceful young man you were at the feast earlier." _

_Oh. That made sense. Harry himself was rather surprised at how he'd spent his summer. The Dursleys were the same in their belittling and ignorance and Harry had spent most days in his bedroom, lost in deep thought. He'd come to many conclusions that way and he'd nearly lost control of his emotions – and magic – more than once indulging his thoughts. _

_Harry glanced at Dumbledore and saw true concern for him there, like the look he'd often seen in Molly's eyes, or any one of the Weasleys. _

"_I thought a lot during summer," Harry said hesitantly, his eyes falling sideways to where Fawkes stood, beautiful and comforting. His golden eyes filled Harry with a warm glow to continue. "Not…not just about S-Sirius but about everything." He took a deep fortifying breath, looking straight into Dumbledore's eyes in true Gryffindor fashion. "It was unfair of you to keep secrets from me, Professor, especially since I've been searching for answers since I was eleven. Then after what happened in the Department of Mysteries…the prophecy only made things worse, I guess. Another thing that will set me apart, that will cause whispers and stares for me, and to know – to _finally_ know why Voldemort wants me dead. It was too much and I lost control and – and _blew_ up your office!" Realizing that his voice had risen in pitch and tone as he babbled, Harry flushed in embarrassment and played with the pocket of his robe. _

_Dumbledore kept silent. _

"_And I was so tired of it. Tired of pelting into certain death mindlessly on a yearly basis, of endangering the people I care about and…and of possibly losing them," Harry whispered, thinking of Sirius' madly gleaming eyes and his mouth open in barking laughter. "Losing S-Sirius was the hardest thing in my life because I cannot remember ever losing my parents, or I was too young to feel most of its impact. They've always been gone for me. I didn't want that to happen to Ron or Hermione, or any of the Weasleys, or to anybody really. At first I was content to blame Snape, or Kreacher, or myself, or Voldemort and Bellatrix or even you, Professor, but I kept on thinking and thinking. We were all at fault, not just myself, or Snape. It felt like a revelation and a decision at the same time. I've never regretted my actions more than ever and I promised myself never to act so rashly ever again, or to let Sna – anyone's taunts or prejudice or fear to blind me. I've finally found a home and a family who loves me and I don't want to lose either of them. That was something I came to understand." _

_Harry licked his lips nervously and cast a hesitant look at the Headmaster. He'd said too much, he knew, and it was uncomfortable to be so blunt with Dumbledore. _

"_To truly understand puts things in perspective, doesn't it, Harry?" Dumbledore only said with an appreciative look in his eyes. "It sheds light on past mistakes and either brings hope or defeat in its wake. I am glad you've come to that decision, my boy. Hate has always been a motivator for so many people to fulfill personal vendettas and I was afraid Sirius Black's death had decided that path for you. Instead, it had strengthened your resolve to fight not for revenge, but to protect the ones who are still here for you. That, my boy, if you want, is truly the biggest difference between you and Tom Riddle. " _

_Harry found himself nodding absently in agreement. Yes, that was exactly it. His heart thudded almost painfully, the fresh spring of longing for Sirius rising in his throat. Harry knew that it was all right for him to feel grief and that it didn't lessen the new understanding he'd gained this summer. _

-

It had been the start of his maturity, Harry thought matter-of-factly. He didn't regret the loss of his innocence because he'd never been innocent. Voldemort had robbed him of that opportunity nearly sixteen years ago.

"Professor, I don't mean to be rude," Harry said with a frown, unable to keep himself from asking the question he most wanted the answer to. "But I don't understand what you're saying. I'm confused about what happened during Potions. For weeks now…" A brief hesitation. "For weeks I've been noticing something odd about my magic. Like it has gotten stronger somehow. That's my guess to what happened earlier but I'm not…I've actually even researched this in the library without Hermione's help. There's nothing there about someone's magic growing powerful without the use of some spell or potion. I was hoping you knew the answer because you wanted to talk to me."

"As you said there are no historical record of this so I can only give you guesses, Harry," replied Dumbledore with an amused smile. "Although I believe that there are no outside forces at work here. Your sudden power and even your improvement in schoolwork have all been because of you."

Harry waited in anticipation, leaning forward a little.

"When you were a young child, I knew that it would be difficult for you to be in a family who didn't accept anything that deviated from the norm. I still stand by my actions with full faith because I believe that it was the best thing to keep you away from your fame before you were able to comprehend even just a small part of it, although I didn't expect the extent to which the Dursleys loathe our kind. I overestimated Petunia Dursley's feelings for your mother, thinking her a better person, a quirky habit of mine that has led to more than one mistake."

Harry shifted on his seat, unsure how this could possibly tie into his sudden uptake in strength. He didn't like to talk about his relatives at all, especially with the very same man who left him there and continued to insist that he stay with them though he vaguely grasped the reasons.

Dumbledore's hands left Fawkes and took hold of the cup, drinking the rest of the beverage. "You must be wondering how it all fits and if you will trust me, Harry, and listen, then you will understand it. As I was saying, even if you have never shared details with me about their treatment, I'm still able to picture it out. Forgive me, Harry, if my next words are prying. I can imagine they called you many unflattering names and insulted yourself, your parents and every wizard they could possibly think of. I'm rather certain they had a few choice words about me when I came to get you."

"Any child would have been confused in that regard, wondering what he or she had done to receive such unloving treatment from his family. Whenever cruel words were spoken and harsh punishments given for situations the child had no control of, then it is easy to guess that the child would have felt a self-loathing for himself and for whatever part of him that was unlovable and unnatural."

There was a break in Dumbledore's words and Harry ducked his head, brows furrowed at the thought that Dumbledore must have read his mind to know partly implicit details of part of Harry's childhood. At least Dumbledore spoke about Harry in the third person, perhaps hoping to preserve some of Harry's pride. He didn't feel the foreign presence of Legilimens, though, probing into his mind which he'd been taught to look out for. McGonagall had taken Snape's place in teaching Harry Occlumency and although she was not as accomplished as Snape in that area, Harry learned more from her than he ever did with the Potions Master.

There was a soft rattle as Dumbledore placed the cup down and waved his wand lightly, making it vanish. Harry could not help but notice that the light in the Headmaster's eyes had dimmed a little. It was disconcerting since it implied that Dumbledore thought too much about it.

"Do you know that magic is alive, Harry? It is sentient and connected first and foremost to our emotions rather than to our conscious mind. It explains the many cases of wandless magic now and then. I'm sure you've experienced it yourself, the sudden flow of wild magic when you've felt highly emotional. So when you began to unconsciously detest as a child whatever was in you," explained Dumbledore, referring now wholly about Harry, "your magic couldn't help but respond by restricting itself. Your subconscious helped it into a corner, although it would leak occasionally. But on the day of your eleventh birthday, when finally you received answers for the reason _why_ your relatives treated you that way – and that there were many others like you and it was not just _you_ – your magic should have been freed completely. Instead, when you came to the wizarding world you found out that even here you are different and you've come to associate different as something terrible. In a world full of strange people, you still stood out as one of the strangest so to speak. Your magic felt it again, except that your restriction now had specifications. You released some of it for you to be able to function as a proper wizard but the bulk of your magic, your potential, was locked away."

"Until last summer."

Dumbledore paused again to give Harry time to wade through the information he'd been given. It sounded logical to Harry, who vaguely knew that the mind was one of the most powerful things in the world. He'd read through a few muggle and magical psychology books provided by McGonagall to help him with his Occlumency. Still, he was a little bit skeptical about it all. He gave a small nod to let the older man know he was ready to know more.

"You experienced a tragedy so great and yet it had a reverse effect on you. Instead of shutting yourself from everything and everything, you opened yourself to your grief and embraced it. With doing that, you let the worse of it pass. You thought about your situation as objectively as you could and for the first time in your life, you managed to understand and accept the most difficult things in your life." Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, peering at Harry with a with a return of the brightness in his blue eyes. "Would it be so much to ask for you to share how you feel with the Dursleys, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, unsure if he wanted to unburden himself in front of the aged wizard, who he was beginning to suspect didn't even need to use Legilimency to know other people's thoughts because he could read and _understand_ people so completely that it bordered on the terrifying. His thoughts on the Dursleys seemed too personal, somehow, and not even his best friends had heard of these things. But perhaps he could tell Dumbledore the gist of it.

Harry chose his words carefully. "I don't agree with you about choosing the Dursleys to raise me, sir. As you said, they nearly stamped the magic out of me with their…ill-treatment if Hagrid had not taken me to Hogwarts. It's hard to imagine you had my best interests in mind when you gave me to them – but it's something that can't be changed for now. I've realized that I wouldn't want to put the Weasleys' in _more_ danger if I stayed with them all year round. And Grimmauld Place…" Harry drifted and shook his head. "I wouldn't want to live in that house. The Dursleys have said so many insulting things ever since I was a boy and it has been hard to think differently when you're confronted with proof every day of your life. I don't think being a wizard is wrong but the prophecy." Harry broke off again, unsure of what to say next. He had spent nights awake thinking of the prophecy, and how this would affect his life if it would be publicized. Harry intensely hated it. This was just another gulf between Harry and everyone else who would be staring across at him with adoring but unknowing eyes.

"But after fifth year, I wanted to _change_. I knew that if I stayed the same then I wouldn't have a bollocks' chance of stopping Voldemort – er, sorry - and that meant starting with the most fundamental thing…my view of myself. In the end it also helped me deal with what happened to S-Sirius. I still loathe just the very thought of Bellatrix but I don't want to kill her anymore because of my anger but because I want justice for S-Sirius, who – who hadn't managed to receive it in life," said Harry a little thickly, smoothing a crease on his trouser that he had caused by his tugging.

But Dumbledore was nodding gravely, looking strangely proud. "It is wonderful to see the man you are becoming, my boy. Although you may dislike your role in our world, it is my personal opinion that fate couldn't have chosen a finer young man."

It was unusual to hear such direct praise from Dumbledore, and on Harry's _maturity_ of all things, and he ducked his head a little in embarrassment. He knew it was important to know these things about himself but it didn't really mean Harry liked to discuss any part of it. He was maturing, that was true, but he still felt like a boy a lot of the time.

"Do you realize it now, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in a pleased tone. "You changed your negative view of yourself, started by your relatives and improved upon by the various personalities in the wizarding world, because you wanted to be better. This, in turn I believe, vanished the remaining restrictive hold your subconscious had on your magic. It is like your mind has always been only just half-illuminated but once you started to know and heal yourself, the light bulb in your head fully brightened."

Harry thought deeply for a moment. "So…it is because…because of the fact that I've come to realize and accept all of these things, to…take the world and myself as I am that I have become more powerful."

"Yes, it is. When you used a spell to light the cauldron, you did it with your usual manner but unknowing that your power had actually magnified, causing the explosion. I'm certain there were times when you've used simple spells and found their effects improved. However it's not just your magic that has been directly affected. I've noticed that you're marks have improved in all of your subjects and from the professors' reports you're beginning to grasp magical theory better," Dumbledore stated. "You're reaching your full potential, Harry, and I would suggest extra lessons for you. Possibly in Defense, Charms, Transfiguration and Runes."

"But I don't take Runes," Harry pointed out.

"You will only be taught the basics of Runic magic. It was used in ancient times for spellcasting and not just for literature," Dumbledore explained happily, planning in his head his young charge's new schedule if Harry allowed it.

Truthfully, the amount of work didn't scare Harry. He was just glad that the Headmaster hadn't suggested he study Potions too because he wasn't sure if he could be alone with Snape after last semester's fiasco. _I probably would have shriveled up at the thought of more schoolwork_, Harry thought dryly with an inward roll of his eyes. _Now I can't believe I'm actually looking forward to learning them. _

But it wasn't mostly because Harry actually found himself interested to learn but there was a more practical reason that he wanted to do it. He knew that when he would face Voldemort, because there was no longer a question of that happening, then Harry would need all the knowledge and power to be able to have a fighting chance. There were things that he knew how to do, like the Patronus Charm, imaginative hexes and curses, a particularly powerful Blasting Curse and so on but Harry understood he needed deeper, broader knowledge and skill, like the kind Hermione possessed. This would help him and Harry was certain Dumbledore had partly thought of it not just to improve Harry's education. After all, no matter what, Albus Dumbledore thought first and foremost about the upcoming war.

Harry made his decision and straightened his back. He met Dumbledore's eyes and found them regarding him calmly.

"I'll do it."

Dumbledore beamed at him, his face looking younger by decades just because of that simple action. "Excellent, my boy. Since the school year is ending, then I propose that you stay here for the summer to begin your training at once. If there are other things you would like to learn then you're more than welcome to propose the subject and the professors and I will take it into consideration," Dumbledore said with an ease that made it clear the Headmaster had been planning this for quite some time.

Harry didn't particularly care because he was too ecstatic by the possibility. His summer spent here, in Hogwarts? Away from the Dursleys? It was simply too good to be true. To his consternation, Harry realized he had no words to express just how much those words meant to him and he simply nodded with wide eyes, Dumbledore watching him with a knowing, smiling look.

"You may leave, Harry, but don't forget that you still have to report back to Professor Snape," Dumbledore said as Fawkes gave a soft, lovely trill. "Would you kindly inform him to see me after he's given you your punishment. I think a trip to your Head of House as soon as possible is also in order so you can begin making plans for this summer. And Harry," Dumbledore added with a mad twinkling happening in his eyes, "second chances are meant for people who do not seem like they deserve it. Do not close your mind to the possibility that someone has changed though they do not show it. If you simply observe without bias, you will learn that even the most impossible relationships may not be so unworkable after all. You were able to change yourself – believe that others are capable of the same thing."

Harry nodded absently, the words barely penetrating his racing thoughts. He would probably examine Dumbledore's parting words later. Harry stood up and mumbled a polite goodbye and practically floated out of the Headmaster's office. So many things occupied his mind and yet what stood out the most was the fact that he was going to spend the summer without his horrid relatives. He knew that it wasn't enough to make up for the ruined childhood he'd spent with the Dursleys but it was a start. A good start.

With a sudden grin, Harry sprinted down to the dungeons uncaring if he was showing too much enthusiasm. After all, it wasn't for Snape.

-

It took Harry five hours to clean the Potions classroom until it was spotless. Snape had given him the punishment without using magic or given a break, with a week's detention after. Snape had left him with the most unpleasant look on his face. Harry took to the task with a single-mindedness he showed only for Quidditch. While he worked and cleaned and scrubbed, Harry's mind furiously ran over his discussion with Dumbledore. Mostly it was just to assimilate himself again with the reasons for the magical accidents that had been happening to him all year round, but mostly recently. Then his thoughts dwelled on his upcoming summer and he felt a sharp anticipation for it. He already knew one other topic he wanted to learn this summer and would ask McGonagall if it was possible.

Harry felt too exhausted to go to McGonagall and decided that tomorrow would suffice. He returned to Gryffindor tower without passing the Great Hall, since dinner had been long over (Potions had been their last class of the day). He was physically drained but mentally, he was more alert than ever.

"_Snortles," _Harry said weakly to the Fat Lady and she quickly drew away from the portrait hole, sympathetic to Harry's ragged appearance. The common room was full of people who turned to look at Harry's entrance with curiosity. They had heard of what had happened.

Thankfully, Ron and Hermione saved him before anyone could start asking questions and immediately drew him to the boys' dormitory, where it was spotless after Hermione had ordered Ron to clean up the mess if she was going to spend time in there. Harry saw a tray of food on his bed and felt a wave of affection for his friends.

Ron and Hermione waited patiently as Harry took a quick, cleansing bath and afterward staggered over to his bed. The other two Gryffindors engaged in light conversation as Harry ate quietly and swiftly.

"All right, mate, spill," Ron immediately demanded once Harry had finished his last bite of treacle tart. "What did Dumbledore say?"

"Ron, don't be rude," Hermione scolded with a glare. "Let Harry actually finish eating."

Ron crossed his arms stubbornly. "He's already swallowed his dessert, so obviously he's finished, right Harry?"

Harry chuckled and pushed the plate away. "It's fine, Hermione. I can tell you what Dumbledore said to me."

Instantly his friends straightened, focusing on the dark-haired Gryffindor.

Harry thought about how he should say it. It seemed long and complicated and would delve into unpleasant territories that he'd never really shared with his best friends before. But he knew he needed to tell them, to explain and to actually unburden himself.

Harry looked at their resolute faces and had to give a faint smile, deciding on how to start. "Dumbledore said I've become a fully functional light bulb."

-

A/N: GOD, this chapter KILLED me to write. _So_, that is the big explanation and I hope that it wasn't disappointing or too confusing. It actually makes sense to me but I'm just shocked this thing actually has some semblance of plot. Please do leave a review to ALL who read this. And my chapters keep getting longer, don't they?

- On this note, I'm going through a very rough patch in my relationship right now and I'm not sure if I will still be able to update next week though I've already written half of chapter 4. I will try but if I can't, then I hope you all will be patient and understanding. Thank you.


	4. Backtracking

The Many Phases of Love

-

**Backtracking **

**-**

_Potter, _Draco thought, _must have stolen someone else's power and incorporated it with his own. _It was the only conclusion Draco could come to, even if it was an illogical one. For Potter to have done that, he would have needed to learn a few of the vilest spells or artifacts in existence, something which was _not_ easy to come by. Potter would need contacts, the sort of people that Lucius Malfoy has in his limitless address book. Or used to have, Draco amended with a complex twist of his lips, since no one saw the Malfoy name as respectable any longer – both in the Light and Dark sides of the wizarding world. That left Draco in a tricky situation.

The blond scowled and locked those thoughts in the back of his head. This was neither the time nor place to contemplate such things since they were better left during the dead of the night.

"What's made you look like that?" Pansy inquired in interest, snatching Draco away from his darkening musings. She was seated beside him in the Great Hall, where the students were having a noisy lunch. "Have the house elves cooked your chicken wrong again?"

The other Slytherins snickered behind their hands and Draco's scowl worsened. It was a known fact of their House that Draco had once fiercely berated a house elf for using too much spices in his favorite chicken dish, making the creature burst into tears and soaking Draco's botched meal in the process. The next time the same meal had been served, Draco's had been so devoid of flavor that he could not finish it. It had become a topic for amusement for the other Slytherins which Draco resented. He did not like to be made fun of, especially for having the right sense of taste.

Draco glared imperiously at the dark-haired girl eating calmly next to him. "As you can see, Parkinson, I am not even having chicken."

Pansy waved away his words, smiling sweetly. "Little details, Draco."

"Oh, sod off," Draco muttered, his mood souring as his gaze swung back to Potter across the Hall, ignoring the rest of his Housemates. He had not been looking at the Gryffindor for approximately two months, finding that he couldn't muster the interest or energy to do so anymore. But here was Draco again, eyes unfailing to locate its previous prey like he'd done for the past six years or so. It was frustrating to realize that he was falling into old habits so easily, after Potter's mishap three days ago. Since then, Draco had done nothing but observe his former rival (or maybe his renewed rival?) but in a new, subtler way. He still didn't say anything to the Gryffindor or his friends, maintaining his cool distance while the rest of his Housemates poked fun at Potter. It earned him more than a few disconcerted glances from the Boy Who Lived himself, while Weasley did his best to enrage a response from Draco.

But not only that, Pansy was watching him too. Not Potter, but _Draco_. She gave him sly looks whenever his eyes were trained on Potter but Pansy made sure that Draco knew it. It was unlike Pansy to hold off interrogating Draco on his behavior but this time she kept her comments to herself. Draco knew that it wouldn't take long for Pansy to finally come around and confront him about it.

The past week after the Potions' accident, Draco had come to the assumption that Potter had not spoiled the potion at all but somehow his spellwork had come off stronger than usual, thus causing the blast. He came to this after he'd covertly watched as Potter performed basic and complicated spells in secret – most often in one of the deserted alcoves in the gardens or an empty classroom – and saw the difference in power in his casting. Potter hadn't been so powerful last month, had he?

But obviously something had happened because Potter had frozen half of the extra Charms classroom with a simple cooling spell. Now that Draco was aware of the sudden surge in power, it wasn't hard to miss it in their shared classes anymore. The signs were there and the fact that Potter _knew_ about it was more than surprising, although that talk he'd had with Dumbledore must have been about it after all. It was in the thoughtful, almost clinical look in the other boy's eyes whenever he did magic. It was like he was experimenting with just how much power he could use these days.

It made Draco just a little envious. Potter had been an average wizard until he started displaying incredible amounts of power in various degrees. The git didn't deserve to have a magical boost or whatever it was called. Every other wizard had to be content with what he was born with.

It intrigued Draco, though, and he wanted answers. It was his curious nature that would someday do him in, as Blaise had warned him in an uncharacteristic display of maturity last year.

Draco suspected one other person knew the answer: Snape. His Head of House had been looking at Potter with more than just disgust these days but also with well-disguised awareness. It was like Snape was also dissecting Potter but he did it under the guide of accurate information he must have gotten from Dumbledore.

Obviously, Snape favored Draco amongst the rest of the Slytherins because he was intelligent, sharp and cunning. Maybe there was a little smear of bias in it but Draco deserved Snape's esteem. Draco realized that if he asked then Snape would tell him what he would be able to. Even if Dumbledore had asked the older man to keep it a secret, Snape would find a way to convey the message to Draco and give him enough of a hint if Snape thought that his student had a right to know.

And this was Potter. Potter was Draco's territory, more so than Snape's, even during that brief moment when Draco hadn't cared for Potter.

_Just this last time_, Draco vowed. _When I've got my answers, Harry Potter will no longer hold my interest ever again. Tonight, I will ask Snape. _

-

Severus Snape's quarters were located adjacent to his classroom, through an expertly concealed door to the front right corner of the room. Any Slytherin was welcome to visit him, although with a healthy amount of hesitation, and even Draco paused for a moment outside that extremely private room. He'd only been in Snape's living area for a handful of times, the last time when he'd been told that his father had been sent to Azkaban.

Never one to hesitate for too long, or pursue an action too eagerly, Draco knocked sharply three times against the thick wood. It took only a brief moment before the door was opened and the torchlight from the inside reflected on Snape, turning him into a sinister sight against the contrast of shadows and light.

"Is there something you need, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked formally, arching an eyebrow as he stared down at his student. He and Malfoy shared the same height – because Draco was tall for his age and Snape short for his

Draco nodded slightly. "There's…something I'd like to discuss with you privately, sir."

Snape looked at him for a long moment before he turned around without closing the door. It was all the invitation Draco needed as he followed after his professor, shutting the door quietly after him.

He was in a spacious sitting room, with a couch and an armchair placed near the fireplace. There were three bookshelves pushed against the far wall, with a nifty spell cast on it so that it could hold more books than it appeared to. The majority of the tomes were Potions books, ones which Draco had borrowed in the past, while a small percentage were devoted to philosophy, history and encyclopedias. Snape was not a man of fiction. A sudden thought about finding one of Pansy's trashy romance novels in Snape's shelves had Draco casting a much closer look on the bookcases just to make sure they weren't actually there.

The idea of Snape reading something so…so frivolous and…_vivid_ made Draco look rather green in the face.

"Draco, sit down," Snape commanded in a more familiar tone as he settled himself down on his favorite armchair, a soft velvet green with snake-carved arms and legs. It was a Slytherin's seat. Once Draco made himself comfortable on the couch, ankles crossed, Snape went right down to business. "Now, what is this visit about? Pray tell it isn't about Potter."

Perhaps Snape knew his students too well but Draco refused to be embarrassed. He kept his defiance at a minimal as he stared back. "As a matter of fact, Professor, it is. I've noticed a few things about him that's been bothering me and I don't think it's presumptuous at all to say that you know about it. You are under Dumbledore's favor."

Snape observed Draco closely. "You're cheeky, Draco. There are times when it doesn't work. Yes, you are right that I know what's happening to Potter." Here, Snape sneered in blatant disdain for the Gryffindor. "That is the only thing I can tell you. The rest, I have been sworn to secrecy."

"It's not much of a secret if I know Potter has gotten stronger, is it?" Draco asked as respectfully as he could but still tilting one eyebrow upwards in impertinence. "One just has to observe him to know. And…" Draco hesitated, unsure if he was willing to say the words out loud. He glanced at Snape and saw the older wizard's impassive expression and knew that he would be safe. "And I want to forget Potter, sir. It's very hard to do that if I have to keep digging into his life for answers. If I had my answers then it would be easy to leave him behind."

Dark, fathomless eyes studied Draco for a long while. It was rare for a Slytherin to be so honest with their feelings because more often than not, Slytherins were known to lie and cheat to protect their self-interests. Then again, manipulation was a key factor in the Snake House. If that manipulation used the truth as its tool…

The silence tugged at Draco's nerves. He didn't like the way Snape pinned him with his black eyes. Frankly speaking, it was creepy as bloody hell. The only sounds came from the crackling of the fire. The room was dark and ominous, shadows dancing on the stone walls with firelight. Draco longed to fidget although he'd been trained at a young age never to do such a telling act.

Finally, Snape spoke. "Your obsession with Potter has always been one of your biggest flaws, Draco. His presence has always triggered something…impulsive and careless within you until you lose your proud, haughty Malfoy exterior. Potter reduces you to uncouth screaming matches and dirty tricks, even for a Slytherin." Snape's softly said words were honest but harsh and Draco couldn't help but feel defensive at his perception of this sudden, unfair attack. He knew he pretty much acted like an idiot whenever Potter was around but _still_.

"I'm afraid the answers will only captivate you further, Draco, because I know your cultivated perceptions of that brat," said Snape as he waved his hand impatiently. The firelight reflected against his oily hair and sallow skin. "I also know that you will not stop until your questions are exhausted. To confirm your words, yes, Potter has grown more powerful than most of us imagine a Gryffindor can become, and it has something to do with his unpleasant Muggle upbringing. That is all that I can share with you."

But judging by Draco's expression, it seemed enough. There was a mixture of surprise and alertness on his face, plus an alarming thoughtfulness that was softened by the glow of the torches. Snape watched Draco quietly, a frown tugging on his lips, as if he knew and was unpleasantly resigned about Draco.

"I'd never realized it before…" Draco muttered thoughtfully, one hand drawing lazy circles on the space next to him. "The Slytherins have always propagated that Potter came from a doting family. Did we start that rumor?"

"It began when Potter was just a boy. The wizarding world wanted to believe that their precious savior was raised in a loving environment," Snape said with obvious scorn and a tiny sneer.

Some things were starting to make sense. Draco had always blamed Potter's lack of decent fashion sense as to why the other boy usually wore threadbare clothes and cheap glasses. When Potter had been eleven, he had been unusually small and scrawny, which then Draco had attributed to horrid genes, but it must have been the result of maltreatment. Potter's obvious aversion to talking about his relatives finally made sense; after all, if Potter came from a devoted family, then he wouldn't have kept so quiet about it.

But then how would that new tidbit of information help him realize why Potter had suddenly become so powerful?

The mystery excited Draco, since he'd always loved to piece things together and solve puzzles. It was one of the reasons why Potions was his favorite class.

"Draco, I cannot convince you to leave this matter about Potter alone, can I?" Snape asked sardonically, breaking Draco away from his thoughts. "It is written clearly all over your face. It's disappointing since you've been doing so well ignoring Potter's existence these past few weeks but Potter has always, one way or another, monopolized your attention since you met the miserable boy. But I ask you to have caution, Draco, and be discreet in your questioning. There're many eyes watching out for him and they may not take kindly to a Malfoy snooping around where he doesn't belong."

The warning didn't mean anything to Draco but he nodded respectfully nonetheless. Being careful was something the Malfoys were so good at doing, second only to protecting their self-interests. It was in their eagerness to do things so they may have something to gain in return that landed them in trouble.

"Thank you, Professor," said Draco politely, giving a small bow to show his respect. He did admire Snape because the man had a brilliant mind and a rare skill in Potions. _But he could use a few Cheering charms_, Draco thought as he was ushered outside his Head of House's quarters and back to his common room, thinking of the older man's perpetually dark face. _Or a love life_.

-

Brown eyes were staring bluntly at Draco but he tried ignoring Pansy for the time being. He was bent over his half-finished Transfiguration essay, which was to be submitted tomorrow. He, Pansy and Blaise were in the library, in a table tucked away in the corner where they could avoid any hostile interruptions, like Madam Pince. Blaise sat next to Pansy and both of them were across from Draco but while the former was also busy writing on his parchment, Pansy was looking at Draco with intent.

Draco let the gaze wash down his back like water. He's had so many people looking at him in different ways that it didn't have much of an effect on him anymore. Not even Pansy's constant staring could faze him. The irritation only came when she opened her mouth. Draco was glad, then, that they were in the library.

But of course, the silence didn't last very long. Pansy was determined to pry from Draco what he and Snape had talked about four nights ago, and what Draco has brooded over since then. She had given him enough space to gather his thoughts, wanting to know the whole story in analyzed detail. Draco knew that he would eventually give in to her but he didn't want to share anything yet because he still had no answers, only conclusions without explanations.

Pansy was idling tapping the top of her feathery quill against the table, making a constant tap-tap-tap that seemed loud in the near absolute silence of the library. She cradled her chin on her palm, gazing at Draco shrewdly with half-closed eyes.

"Draco," Pansy finally spoke, her tone low and serious. The blond ignored her. "Draco," Pansy called again but Draco merely kept his head bowed over his essay, studiously scribbling the words that flowed easily from his hands.

Pansy gave an exasperated little sigh – she had never been that patient – and promptly smacked the other boy on the head with her quill. Draco jerked upright, narrowing his eyes at the girl in the patented Malfoy glare that reduced grown men into stuttering fools. Pansy, who had been taught by his father never to be intimidated by the Malfoy glare since it was high plausible that she would be marrying into the family, merely looked smug that finally Draco was paying her attention.

She pointed a well-manicured finger at Draco. "You have been staring at Potter for the past two weeks _after _telling me that you no longer had any sort of interest for him. I did not tell our Housemates why you've been so inactive against Potter lately mostly because you're returned to your old habit. You said that Potter was nothing more than an ordinary, dim-witted boy – obviously something's changed and I'm smart enough to know that it has something to do with that Potions' accident and your chat with Snape." Pansy managed to flip her short black hair haughtily, undaunted by the irritated look in Draco's eyes. She knew well enough how to read Draco Malfoy and when to draw the line with her prying.

Draco smirked at her, twirling his own quill deftly between his fingers and stared in challenge at Pansy. "You're right in all of that, darling Pansy, but what makes you think I'm going to tell you. I may share some things with you but don't forget who actually pulls the strings around here."

"Cut the superior act, Draco," Pansy said bluntly with a roll of her eyes. "I know for a fact that you're not genuinely pissed off because you haven't got that deadly look in your eye. You're merely annoyed at my persistence but _we_ both know you're going to tell me sooner or later. So let's get past the bickering this time and head straight to the part where you _tell_ me."

Draco opened his mouth to rebuke that no, he was definitely not _acting_ superior because he _was_ better than everyone else, when Blaise gave a disgusted snort and threw his quill on the table. The other boy lifted his head and treated his two companions with an impressive glower of his own.

"I cannot stand your push-and-pull way of communication anymore," Blaise said with a frustrated shake of his head. "In fact, all of Slytherin has had it with you two for years. Why can't you just talk like normal people for once. _Honestly_!" He turned to Pansy and said, "Draco's been observing Potter like a hawk because Potter's grown more powerful without any reason and he's most likely been given surprising information by Snape that corrected a heretofore mistaken assumption about the Golden Boy's life or some other such nonsense. Now can I please get back to my essay because I have a date in an hour?"

Draco and Pansy stared at Blaise in varying degrees of surprise.

"How did you know all that?" Draco demanded hotly, turning the full effects of his glare on the other boy. "Have you been following me?"

"Trust me Draco, blond and high-maintenance are definitely not on my list," Blaise retorted sarcastically, picking up his quill and pulling his Transfiguration book closer to him.

"What's wrong with that? And I am _not_ high-maintenance, thank you very much!" Draco said indignantly before he shook his head and went back to his original point. "Again, how did you know all that? If you don't give me a clear answer then I will hex your bollocks so you wouldn't even want to go on your date."

Something gleamed in Draco's eyes and Blaise wisely took notice of it. "Very well, I shall share with you how I knew all of that." He gave a lengthy pause until Pansy hit him on the side of the head. "Hey ow! All right, Merlin. I just figured it out, okay? It wasn't hard to do given the fact that I've actually noticed Potter's grown stronger. My table was next to his during that Potions' class, remember? When he cast the charm to light the cauldron, I actually felt the force of his power flare at such a simple spell. I didn't even have to concentrate, it was that strong. Then I started observing him – and watching as Draco observed him - and my suspicions were confirmed: Potter has gotten powerful, which doesn't normally happen. As for the last part about Snape, I took a completely wild guess."

Draco partly believed Blaise since the other boy was particularly sensitive to the nuances of magic. He could detect someone casting a spell or feel an ongoing curse in the environment. It was a trait common in the Zabini family. The catch, though, was that the person had to be aware that a spell was happening to be able to perceive it. But to actually feel the magical vibrations when he was not attuned? Potter was more powerful than even Draco had anticipated.

"Taking a wild guess doesn't seem believable," Pansy pointed out a moment later with a lift of her eyebrows. "Especially from you, Blaise. You must have known in some other way."

Blaise shrugged and looked away. "It was a lucky speculation, that's all."

"I think not but we'll let it go for now," said Draco and he rolled up his parchment. He couldn't finish it now since they were going to talk about Potter. "Have you been following him around?"

"You mean like you do?" Blaise snorted, his dark blue eyes looking at Draco in amusement. "Yes I have but only that one time. In fact, I stood not far behind where you were crouched behind a hedge – not very suave, Draco – as Potter practiced his spells in a deserted alcove in the garden."

Draco's eyes narrowed a little. That had happened two days ago, on a Hogsmeade weekend, when everyone else had gone to the village. Or so Draco thought. He'd know Potter had deliberately stayed behind and Draco had followed after him. But hadn't Blaise went with Pansy and the others that day?

There was a knowing glint in Pansy's eyes. "So that's why you went back ahead of us, Blaise, you sneaky bastard."

Blaise tapped his fingers on the cover of his book. "No, I simply returned because I couldn't stand Theo mooning over you for one more bit. Besides, I still had leftover sweets from the last Hogsmeade visit. Really Pansy, you shouldn't try so hard to give Theo the cold shoulder when I know you _fancy_ him back."

Pansy blushed, which she never did, and her voice was cold and clipped when she spoke. "I have no idea whatsoever about what you're prattling, Zabini."

The dark-skinned Slytherin snorted in disbelief. "Call me a Hufflepuff but who has Theo's name written all over her History of Magic scrolls surrounded by hearts?"

Annoyance was quickly weighing down on Draco as his two friends bickered. It was vaguely reminiscent of Weasley and Granger, which Draco shuddered at, but luckily Pansy and Blaise were respectful Slytherins and didn't hesitate to hex each other if the other got too annoying. Usually Draco would egg both of them on but now today.

"Stop it the both of you," Draco snapped in his most commanding tone, the one that his father often used when ordering around the house elves. "Or we will be kicked out of the library. We shall discuss Pansy's romantic entangles in another time, preferably with Theo around to make her squirm. I've had enough of Pansy making me uncomfortable about certain topics and this would be a nice way to teach her a lesson." He smiled grimly at Pansy, who glared at him. "And Blaise, you were saying?"

"Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was heading back to the castle when I felt that familiar sensation of magic – Potter's magic. It had a surprisingly strong reach since I was not that near to the gardens. I followed it and saw you, Draco, behind the bush while spying on Potter. I was baffled when you didn't realize I was there. You've always had sharp instincts, a Gryffindor trait but one that does come in handy once in a while, but I figured you were too engrossed with Potter at that moment."

There was a moment's silence as Blaise and Draco watched each other. Pansy impatiently rapped the wooden desk, causing the other students to shush at her which she promptly ignored. "Then? What was Potter doing?"

It was Draco who answered. "He was performing five charms. All at once." 1

"Five?" Pansy demanded, clearly startled. "But a wizard can only perform three charms the most simultaneously and even then it's difficult."

"We know that," said Blaise with a roll of his eyes. "Which is why we were stunned to see Potter doing such a thing. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore can do it because even for a complete nutter there's no denying he's powerful. But Potter?"

Draco made a thoughtful noise. "How come you didn't say anything about feeling Potter's magic before?"

"I thought you already knew," Blaise shrugged.

"So this is what you've been puzzling over, Draco?" Pansy asked with a shake of her head. "The thing you and Snape spoke about?"

"Partly," Draco said cryptically and spoke before Pansy could say anything else. "But I will not tell you the rest of it. Maybe when I've completely figured it out. For now, it would be very much appreciated if you would _not_ keep on tracking my movements when it came to Potter or ask me anything regarding him. It's bloody distracting to the point where I can't concentrate and I know you're partly doing it just to aggravate me." This time, Draco's lips stretched to a sweetly cunning smile. "Or else Theo will miraculously receive a History of Magic scroll with the words 'Mrs. Pansy Nott' scribbled on it. Yes, my dear, I saw that _other_ parchment."

Pansy's eyes flashed and she bared her lips in a snarl. She hated having her own game turned on her. Blaise stifled a chuckle at her disgruntled expression, thinking that Slytherins had a very dysfunctional relationship with each other.

"Fucker," was all Pansy said.

"That would be Blaise," the blond drawled out serenely as he picked up his quill and went back to his essay. The sooner he could finish this monstrous assignment the better. Then he could devote his time to puzzling out Harry Potter.

-

1. This bit here was obviously inspired by Aidan Lynch's beautiful story, 'Unthinkable Thoughts.' I give him credit for this idea and I'm only borrowing it.

FINALLY! I updated. It took me a few weeks too, didn't it? My relationship resolved its problems, thank god, but I've been busy with schoolwork. I hope this update will satisfy you. Also, I was a bit disappointed at the amount of reviews for the last chapter when the hits for it actually doubled. And after I had such a tough time with it too but ah, what can I do? I'm still grateful you read and like this thing and my gratitude goes especially to those who take their time and review. Thanks to all!

Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner. Next we will have Harry's summer and maybe we can move things along though there's a part of me that wants to be as thorough as possible even if it means having a long story. Hey, it is a chronicle of Harry and Draco's life through their Hogwarts years, the war and beyond.


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